


High Standards

by GothicPrincessWitch, scatteringmyashes



Series: The Saga Of The City Of Broken Chains [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Fenris (Dragon Age), Asexual Relationship, Awkward Flirting, First Dates, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Red-Purple Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-06 01:35:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16822471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GothicPrincessWitch/pseuds/GothicPrincessWitch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatteringmyashes/pseuds/scatteringmyashes
Summary: Hawke is a dangerous man running a criminal empire that spans a city. Fenris is an equally dangerous but homeless elf running from a dark past. When they're together, they turn into wildly romantic, pining, giggling idiots.And these two idiots are going on their very first date.Will friendly interference, too much lasagna, and their own anxiety get in the way, or is this date going to blow expectations out of the water? There's only one way to know. Welcome to Kirkwall.





	High Standards

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Day 9: AUs of Fenris Appreciation Month! It's the first entry in a series we've been working together on for the past few months, and we're very excited to present it to you. Stay tuned, because we've got a lot more of this saga in store!

Fenris looks in the mirror and frowns. He knows that Garrett Hawke is nothing like Danarius Tyrannus. He knows that Hawke will not mind if Fenris does not look like he stepped off of the page of a fashion magazine. Hawke does not know or care to learn the difference between a Windsor and a Pratt. And it is difficult to picture Hawke eating anywhere with more than one fork. But Hawke deserves — 

Well. Hawke deserves a great deal. And Fenris knows he is woefully incapable of providing everything that Hawke should have, so he has to at least do his best to be… satisfactory. To be enough, that is, to make Hawke happy. 

Which is why Fenris looks in the mirror and frowns, because he does not feel like he is enough. His suit, for one, is ill-fitting. The charcoal colored fabric hangs off his body, clinging to his elbows and shoulders but not tight enough around his waist or wrists. His shirt is just half a size too big, the maroon not tailored to his lean frame. He at least feels like the tie — which matches his suit — is acceptable. It has been quite some time since he had to tie one, but the muscle memory has yet to fade. 

“Why are you unhappy with your appearance, my friend?” Sebastian asks, appearing behind Fenris. The two are trying on clothes in Sebastian’s well lit and up to code apartment, as opposed to Fenris's warehouse. Perhaps this is not the point of the suit donations the Chantry collects, but Fenris has every intention to return the clothes once he’s done. Besides, there are so few people Fenris’s size that it's unlikely anyone will even notice the clothes are temporarily missing. 

Fenris, for all the progress he has made, can't quite get his throat to work properly to say  _ this is not meeting my master’s standards. _ Instead, he shrugs. 

Sebastian gives him a smile and squeezes his shoulder. “Well, let me be the first to say that you look wonderful. Hawke will be blown away when he sees you.” 

“Hopefully not very far. He still has not told me where we are eating,” Fenris replies. 

“Oh? And here I thought he would whisk you away on his motorcycle to the finest five star restaurant in Hightown!” 

Fenris snorts. “Do you truly believe that Hawke would take me anywhere that has more than one fork?”

“I didn't know Hawke could use a fork,” Sebastian teases. He quickly sobers up, moving to look at the rejected suits — all too big or the wrong color for Fenris’s tastes. As he sorts through them, he says, “I am happy for you.” 

Fenris is less startled and more pleasantly surprised. “Thank you.” He continues to fiddle with his belt. Perhaps if he adjusts the tuck of his shirt, it will look a little less ridiculous. 

“I mean it. You have come a long way since we first met. And Hawke — he has changed as well.” Sebastian smiles. “Don't tell him, but he has become softer.” 

Yesterday, Hawke threatened to disembowel someone who had gotten caught encroaching in on one of Hawke’s territories. Fenris wonders what he was like before if  _ that _ counts as soft. Then he remembers the dangerous smile that had initially drawn him in and he does not have to wonder. 

“And he will love whatever you wear,” Sebastian continues. “In fact, I think I have a few empty sacks around here—” 

“Your point has been taken,” Fenris insists. He sighs and finally turns his back to the mirror. “I only wish I knew where he was taking me. I would — then I could ensure I am properly dressed. But thank you for your help. I could not have done this without you.” 

“This is what the suits are for,” Sebastian replies. Fenris gives him a look and Sebastian chuckles. “Okay, perhaps not  _ this _ specifically. But they are donated for people who do not have one to use. And you are getting a good use out of it.” 

Fenris shakes his head, but there is a smile on his face. “How you have Varric convinced you are dull is a miracle.” 

“Miracles are reserved for the Maker,” Sebastian says in a perfectly straight tone. 

“Shut up and help me pick a pair of shoes,” Fenris tells him. But he feels — he feels better. Sebastian, after all, would never lie to him. And surely Hawke will understand if Fenris’s suit is not perfectly tailored and his shirt is slightly wrinkled. Besides, how nice of a place can Hawke really intend on taking an elf? 

#

The Kingpin of Kirkwall, the most dangerous man in the city, that's what he's called. It's a title Hawke relishes, a title he's earned with bloodied knuckles and bloodied blades.

Hawke has been a thug since he dropped out of high school and became involved in a local drug trafficking ring run by an elf named Athenril. In the eleven years since, he's clawed his way up to the top of Kirkwall's underworld, and he's dabbled in various profitable vices and enterprises, from the black market to smuggling to extortion to gang warfare. He styles himself as a businessman, a reasonable businessman with a bit of a loose definition of a moral compass, perhaps even a mercenary whose protection can be bought by those willing to pay his price, but to be quite blunt, he's a criminal overlord with an empire stretching throughout nearly all of the city.

A proud man, Hawke has fought hard to get here, to be able to walk down the streets of both the roughest and the swankiest parts of the city with his head held high, his hands casually stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket and a smug smile as deadly as the knives at his belt upon his lips, while everyone scrambles to get out of his way. He's already a big, dangerous-looking man at 6'4" and a whole lot of lean, hard muscles, but he enjoys his reputation as someone not to be fucked with.

He's come a long way from the angry kid he used to be, desperate to prove something of himself and quickly getting in way over his head. He's tougher now. Hard-edged. More brutal.

Way back when, all Hawke was trying to do was take care of his family. His mother came from money — money she'd been cut off from after eloping with his father Malcolm; but she'd continued her extravagant lifestyle, living well above her means even after Malcolm's death, until she'd plunged the family deep into debt. Borrowing money from Athenril was fast cash to keep the rent paid, the lights on, and food on the table for his mother, his siblings, and himself, but Hawke had to work off the loan and the interest, and in the process he made a discovery.

He is  _ very _ skilled at violence.

He kept at it, working harder, working his way up, but things came to a head when a branch of the Par Vollen mafia came to Kirkwall and attempted to take over the local gangs. It was a long fight, a tough fight, but Hawke killed their leader and, with blood dripping from his mirthless grin, ordered the remaining Par Vollen mobsters to get the fuck out of his city. That earned him a great deal of respect.

Varric Tethras, his friend, confidant, and partner in crime, had looked at him in awe and said, "You're one of a kind, Hawke."

And Kirkwall has truly become Hawke's city. He has money now, along with power and status and a fearsome reputation. He has authority and influence. He has strict rules in his territories about what's permitted and forbids any kind of slave trafficking or sex trafficking. He has contacts and connections among the city's government and elite, and he has a family friend, Aveline Vallen, in the police. More importantly, though, he has people to take care of, people who rely on him, people to protect.

And the most important of all these people is Fenris.

Beautiful, wonderful Fenris, the most incredible man Hawke has ever met. Fenris is clever, intelligent, and sharp-witted with a delightfully dry sense of humor. He's breathtakingly gorgeous, with full lips curving into the most entrancing smile, deep green eyes Hawke could drown in, and hair the color of moonlight; and he's possibly more dangerous even than Hawke, which is admittedly an odd trait for Hawke to be attracted to. 

And his hand fits perfectly within Hawke's.

There's nothing Hawke wouldn't do for Fenris. Hawke is by no means a good person, but he wants to be good for Fenris.

For all that Garrett Hawke is the most feared and most dangerous man in Kirkwall, secretly he's nothing but a big softie who dreams about holding hands with the man he loves.

Somehow he's been lucky —  _ blessed by the Maker, one might say _ — to get to where he is, to survive everything he has, but what makes Hawke the luckiest man in Thedas is that Fenris has agreed to go out with him.

And they're going out  _ tonight _ , he thinks to himself gleefully as he gets ready for their date in his apartment, the spicy-sweet cinnamon and sandalwood scent of his cologne settling over him.

He has to impress Fenris this evening and show Fenris how much better his life has become since Fenris became a part of it. It's strange to be driven by love instead of survival, but Hawke is better for it.

He wants everything to be romantic as he sweeps Fenris off his feet. Fenris deserves every luxury, every pleasure, everything good in life, and Hawke wants to be able to provide all of that for Fenris.

This is going to be the greatest night of his life.

"Should I pick him up with my car or with my motorcycle?" Hawke calls Varric and asks him for help.

"You want to get laid, don't you? Take the motorcycle," is Varric's sage advice.

Hawke laughs, but he chooses the car after all. It's a sleek, sporty vehicle in a garish red color, with tinted, bulletproof windows and a gun in the glove compartment.

With lives like theirs, being prepared for a little danger never hurts.

#

Fenris is pacing in Sebastian's living room and he is pretty sure it's driving Sebastian nuts, but Fenris can't hold still. Every bit of anxiety and paranoia is hitting him all at once. He’s not ready for this. He isn't going to be able to fulfill what expectations Hawke has. He won't be funny enough or smart enough while they talk. He won't like the restaurant they go to tonight. He'll embarrass Hawke. 

He isn't good enough for Hawke. 

Well, Fenris already knows that's true. He just needs to pretend it isn't, has to do his best to be enough anyways. 

Does it matter that Hawke and Fenris have been friends for almost a year, that Hawke is closer to Fenris than almost anyone else, and that  _ all _ of their mutual friends are excited for them to go on a date? Of course not. Fenris is well aware that he has many dark and unpleasant secrets, all lying buried and waiting for a poor fool to uncover them. 

A car drives down the street and stops in front of Sebastian's flat. The engine stops and Sebastian — who has been sitting in an armchair watching Fenris do his best to burn a hole into the carpet via friction — smiles. 

“That must be Hawke,” Sebastian says. He stands and is immediately blocked by Fenris. 

It is usually quite difficult to see Fenris's full eyes, due to his tendency to hide them behind his bangs. With how wide his eyes are now, Sebastian has no such difficulty. 

“What if — we can tell him I am sick,” Fenris suggests. 

“I texted him an hour ago confirming he can pick you up here.” Sebastian steps around Fenris as there is a quick but heavy knock on the door. 

Let it never be said that Fenris is not stubborn. “Sudden bout of the — the flu,” he considers. He casually leans against the front door. 

“Hawke will insist on caring for you himself,” Sebastian points out. He puts a hand on the doorknob and gives Fenris a look not unlike that of a mother about to count to three in order to convince her child to behave. 

“Something — something contagious?” Fenris mumbles. The question mark is practically audible. 

The knock returns. Sebastian sighs and opens the door. 

“Hawke! We were just talking about you. Come in.” Sebastian steps back and Fenris is able to fully take in his date for the evening. 

Hawke enters with his usual cocky grin and charm, seeming as Hawke as ever, with an enormous bouquet of red roses in his hands. There are maybe fifty roses in this bouquet; it was the biggest he could possibly get.   


“Hey, Sebastian, I was—  _ Whoa.” _ Hawke’s eyes are shining with awe as he catches sight of Fenris, his heart all but stopping in his chest from the sheer beauty of what he sees, and for a moment the only thought in his head is,  _ You deserve the world, Fenris, but tonight you look so beautiful that the whole world fades into the background. _ Breathlessly he says, “Fenris, you look incredible.” 

Of course, Fenris has always looked incredible, from the very night they first met. That was about a year ago, on a dangerous street corner where Fenris was covered in blood, his hair a silver halo about his head in the gleaming streetlights, a blood-splattered steel pipe clenched in his hands, with rage and pain and defiance burning in those beautiful eyes like peridot jewels. Hawke had started to fall for Fenris from that very moment, and he’s only fallen more deeply now. 

Tonight Fenris appears as though he’s walked out of Hawke’s more romantic dreams, clad in a suit which makes him seem very formal, very elegant, and very soft, as if they’re about to attend a ball and dance together long into the night, illuminated only by starlight while gazing into each other’s eyes at every moment. There’s a shyness in Fenris’s blushing face, and it draws Hawke in just as much as Fenris’s dangerous side. 

Suddenly Hawke realizes that his own appearance is very lacking in comparison to Fenris’s. Hawke is wearing the same normal clothes he wears every day, with his oxblood Doc Martens, his ripped jeans, his red and black plaid flannel stained with something that may be blood or might just be barbecue sauce, topped with the leather motorcycle jacket which functions equally as a kind of armor and as an addition to his coolness factor, along with his extra coolness element of aviator sunglasses pushed onto his perfectly disheveled, artfully coiffed hair. 

Fenris has made all this effort to look special and so incredibly nice, the most handsome man in Thedas even more handsome than ever, and Hawke just looks like, well, basic everyday Hawke, a glorified thug who beats people with his fists on a regular basis. 

His mouth gone dry, Hawke swallows. He’s spent so long staring at Fenris that Fenris’s blush has deepened, and he’s become aware that Sebastian’s forehead is creased and lips are pursed in tacit disapproval. Clearing his throat to give himself a moment to recover, Hawke tries to hide his awkwardness by playing up his charm.

“Are you ready for our date tonight? I’m hoping to wow you,” he says with a cocky wink, despite the fact that he himself is still very wowed and dazzled by Fenris. He hands Fenris the lush bouquet of roses, deep blood red in color and bound with glittery red plaid ribbons. They're almost ridiculous in his hands. “These are for you, although their beauty pales in comparison to your own.” 

The romantic side of Hawke is all but swooning at the sight of Fenris holding his flowers, and another blush blooms across Hawke’s face as he continues his attempt to stay suave and charming, saying, “I’ve got reservations for the best table at the Olive Garden. Let’s go.” 

“Of course.” Fenris hopes that he does not sound as nervous as he feels. Seeing Hawke has made his heart jump, his palms sweat, and his breath catch in a way that he is unaccustomed to dealing with. It is always good to be around Hawke. He has a comforting presence that Fenris, despite his best efforts, cannot describe in any tongue.

But Fenris has never been on a date and he's not sure what to expect. Hawke said they were going somewhere nice, but as far as Fenris can remember Olive Garden is… well, it is not fast food, but it certainly isn't  _ nice _ . 

Then again, Danarius wouldn't have been caught dead in an Olive Garden. How bad could it be? 

With a softer, much more genuine smile than his cunningly crafted cocky grins, Hawke offers his hand to Fenris. With Hawke, it’s always an offer, always asking permission, never an expectation. Fenris, of course, is doomed to always accept. He has his own soft, gentle smile on his lips. 

Suddenly, however, Fenris realizes his hands are taken up by a bouquet of ridiculous proportions. He hesitates, not wanting to put them down and risk ruining how they're put together. But he also wants to hold Hawke's hand. 

Sebastian notices his difficulty and coughs. “Give them to me, Fenris. I believe I have a vase I can give you.” He takes the flowers and smiles. “I will take care of them.”

Hands now freed, Fenris shyly accepts Hawke's offer. Hawke squeezes his hand reassuringly, his thumb brushing over Fenris’s knuckles.

Sebastian’s smile drops as he points a stern expression at Hawke. “Hawke, may I have a word?” He asks frostily, although it’s not much of a request, the overture of politeness a mere formality. 

“Is this the part where you lecture me about my intentions for the evening?” Hawke teases, while never taking his eyes off Fenris. “If so, I assure you my intentions are entirely dishonorable.” 

Fenris, despite his nerves, can't help but chuckle a bit. He cuts it off with a cough, tearing his eyes away from Hawke. Their hands never part and the blush has yet to fully fade from Fenris's face. 

Sebastian sighs wearily but firmly says, “Hawke, this is a serious matter.” 

“Then if you’ll excuse us a moment…” Hawke bends over to brush a light kiss against Fenris’s cheek, reluctantly releasing Fenris’s hand, before stepping aside with Sebastian. Fenris, though hesitant and uneasy about this, just nods and walks outside. 

Sebastian’s sky blue eyes are like ice. “He tried on suits for more than three hours, and you’re taking him to Olive Garden? Maker’s breath, Hawke. Have you put any thought at all into how important this is to him?”

It’s easy to let the awestruck and romantic side of him fall back, like slipping out of one jacket and into another, as he lets the domineering demeanor of the Kingpin of Kirkwall slide into place.  _ “This _ is the serious matter to discuss? Trying on suits? It’s a date, not our wedding—” 

“Then what are these?” Sebastian asks, holding up the bouquet like it's a weapon. 

“Casual date flowers,” Hawke retorts, insistent on maintaining his cool and chill facade, although it comes off as somewhat defensive. “Because it’s a casual date. Those are perfectly normal flowers to give someone, Sebastian, so I don’t know what you’re talking about. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with going somewhere simple and casual for our date. Anyway, you don’t have any say in my love life, regardless of whether you think you have a say in his. Fenris and I are going to have a delightful time tonight. That’s the plan, anyway.” 

“Fenris has never dated before, has no idea what to expect, and your idea of casual dating isn’t exactly what’s healthy for him, let alone what’s best. Don’t think I’ve forgotten your old attempts at seducing him. Fenris is not a one night stand, and he deserves better. If you’re going to take him on a date then you need to treat him with the respect he deserves.” 

Hawke glances down at the finger Sebastian has pointed accusingly at his chest. Part of being the most powerful and dangerous man in Kirkwall is that he never allows anyone to speak down to him or tell him what to do ever again, but part of trying to be the good man Fenris deserves means understanding why Sebastian is so concerned. 

Fenris has no good experience in dating or relationships and certainly no experience in romance, and Hawke has a well earned reputation which doesn’t exactly paint him in the best light. It would be easy — all too easy — for Hawke to hurt Fenris even unintentionally, and Hawke needs to be careful. 

Because Sebastian is right: Fenris does deserve the best, and for Hawke to give him the best and to be the best for him, it’s important for him to make more of a conscious effort to think of Fenris’s needs. 

“Was Olive Garden a bad choice?” He mumbles, not exactly admitting he made a mistake. “I thought it would be comfortable. At least more so than the kind of five star restaurants my mother would prefer I go to.” 

“It’s… not quite up to Fenris’s standards and tastes for cuisine,” Sebastian responds diplomatically. 

Hawke nods. “Right. Well then. If I’m lucky enough to get a second date, I’ll keep that in mind.”

He’s turning to go out to Fenris when Sebastian finally and candidly blurts out what he’s truly wanted to say this entire conversation. “You are not having sex with him tonight!” 

Hawke freezes mid-step like he’s been struck, and then he pivots, face reddening, back toward Sebastian. “Excuse me?” he says, incredulous.

“You are not going to have sex with Fenris tonight,” Sebastian repeats more firmly. “He’s not ready for that, and he’s certainly not ready for it with you. Don’t you dare try to pressure him, or else.”

“Or else what? Are you really threatening  _ me?”  _

“I know where you sleep and where you keep your guns, and for Fenris’s sake, I will do what I must. I swear by Andraste’s holy name.” Sebastian meets Hawke’s indignant gaze unflinchingly, his words laced with vehemence. 

Hawke holds Sebastian’s gaze and takes his words to heart. He knows damn well that this threat isn’t empty, just as he knows that Sebastian cares for Fenris’s well being and happiness more than anything else. So he nods in understanding.

Sebastian’s expression smooths back into his supportive, amiable smile from earlier. “I am glad that we’re on the same page, then. Have a good time on your date, and don’t keep him out too late.” 

“Yes, Dad,” says Hawke with a little scoff. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and returns to Fenris. His heart skips a beat upon seeing Fenris once again looking so very elegant in that suit. He has to resist the impulse to brush those soft silver bangs out of Fenris’s lovely eyes. 

“Are you ready to go?” he asks. 

Fenris nods, hoping that his anxiety is hidden enough that he doesn't look like how he feels — and he feels sick to his stomach. Hawke and Sebastian could not have spoken for more than ten minutes and yet Fenris cannot imagine what they spoke of. 

“Is everything all right?” He asks.

Hawke smiles at him. “Everything is fine,” he replies smoothly. He reaches out to intertwine his fingers through Fenris’s once more, and the warmth he feels from their touch spreads through him, making his very knees weak. “Hey, Fenris?”

“Yes, Hawke?”

“I just want to let you know how very happy I am that you’re going out with me tonight,” says Hawke softly enough for only Fenris to hear. “Really, truly, spending time with you makes me happier than I ever dreamed possible. And I would give anything to make you happy as well — as happy as possible, so thank you for giving me this chance to try to make you happy. It means the world to me. So please, let me know what I can do to make all of this — this evening, this date, this, whatever comes next — as good for you as it is for me.” 

Fenris, not for the first time, is floored by how loving and caring Hawke is. How earnest he is with his feelings and how honestly caring he is for Fenris. There isn't much that Fenris can say — that he knows to say. 

So he nods again and squeezes Hawke's hand. “I am very happy we are going out tonight as well,” he replies. “And I apologize if my appearance is not what you expected. I — I believe I misunderstood your original proposal.” 

“No, don’t apologize. You’re perfect.” Hawke clears his throat, blushing red and feeling awkward all over again. “I mean, you look perfect. Actually, no, I do mean that you’re perfect. I mean… Shall we be off?” He opens the passenger door of his car for Fenris. 

A soft chuckle escapes Fenris as he slides into the car. The soft leather and smell of cinnamon is so familiar that he can't help but relax. He tries not to focus on what Hawke says.  _ Perfect… if only you knew, _ Fenris thinks.

“So,” he says once Hawke is in the driver's seat, “I have never been to Olive Garden. What is it like?”

“Oh, it’s amazing!” exclaims Hawke, looking at Fenris with stars in his eyes. “I always fill up on a million breadsticks ‘cause they’re to die for, and the rest of the food is pretty tasty too. Lots of noodles and sauces, but the breadsticks are the best. And they have wine too, which is nice and automatically counts as fancy in my book. I hope you like it.” 

Wine and pasta sounded about as nice as Fenris could hope. He nods and smiles a little wider, feeling like perhaps this will not go as poorly as he feared. 

“Well then, we should not be late.” 

“Well, I kind of, um, bought out the entire restaurant for the night so that we’ll have some privacy, so we won’t be late.” Hawke flashes him a bashful grin as he starts the car and begins driving, ignoring all speed limits. 

#

They arrive at the restaurant in, quite possibly, inhuman time. Then again when one is the Kingpin of Kirkwall, then speed limits are more like suggestions. Despite the fact that Hawke drives a bit like a madman, Fenris has never felt in danger. Still, his heart races as they grow closer and closer to their destination and his stomach is churning so much that he fears he won't be able to eat. 

When they arrive, Fenris gets out of the car before Hawke can help him. He appreciates how much Hawke cares for him, but it does make him a little self-conscious to have someone else act so… so much like a servant. Even if, for Hawke, it is an act of affection. 

Fenris peers at the Olive Garden with slightly suspicious eyes. It seems simple enough. Over the top in its attempts to look nice, but still not shabby. And, true to Hawke’s word, the parking lot is almost entirely empty. 

“I hope this is okay. I thought — I worried you might feel self-conscious at some place more upscale or more crowded,” Hawke says, appearing self-conscious himself. “And I didn’t want you to feel... on display. I’m sorry if that was presumptuous of me.” 

“No, it is fine.” Fenris  _ does _ get self-conscious around strangers. He is very obviously an elf not originally from Kirkwall and the brands don't help matters. It does mean a lot, knowing that Hawke has his comfort in mind. “Shall we?” He asks, offering his hand out to Hawke. 

There’s a spark of heat in Hawke’s golden eyes as he takes Fenris’s hand, draws it to his lips, and presses a kiss to Fenris’s knuckles. “Of course.”

True to his word, Hawke has the best table in the entire restaurant prepared for them. It has a view of the city lights, glistening like Kirkwall’s own constellation of stars. Combined with the dim lighting of the restaurant, it sets an intimate mood at the table. Already Hawke’s gaze is softening, his eyes warm like melted honey, as he smiles at Fenris.

They sit across from each other and have hardly taken their seats when a waitress quickly rushes over. She has menus in one hand and water plus breadsticks carefully balanced on a tray.   


“How may I help you good gentlemen?” She asks. Fenris glances at Hawke.

“I’ll take the eggplant parmesan and a Bud Light,” says Hawke without glancing at the menu. He’s still too busy staring at Fenris with that utterly smitten expression on his face. “What would you like, love? I mean — Fenris. What would you like, Fenris?” 

Fenris wonders if he's going to spend the entire date flushed. He skims the menu but his anxiety is making the words even more difficult to read than usual. He ends up stammering out, “I — I will have the lasagna,” because at least that's something he's had before and likes. He hopes that he hasn't made some critical error, because the waitress stays a moment longer before nodding.

“Of course! I'll be right back with your beer.” She smiles and leaves them to silence and bad music. 

“So,” says Hawke oh so eloquently in an attempt at conversation, but he can barely hear the words over his heartbeat thundering in his chest because of the way Fenris’s silver hair and jewel-like eyes catch the dim lights, seeming to set Fenris aglow. “What do you think?”

Fenris glances around, taking in the gaudy decoration and doing his best to ignore the way his tongue feels like lead. He shrugs, reaching for his water. “It is not that bad.” He swears as he accidentally knocks the glass over, dumping its contents all over the table. 

Hawke is on his feet in an instant, using his napkin to wipe up the spilled water. The sudden impulse comes to him to rip off his shirt and use that to clean up the table/impress Fenris, but he shoves that thought to the back of his mind. 

“Why don’t we move to that table where it’s dry?” he asks, setting down the soaked napkin and moving to pull out a chair for Fenris at a nearby table. “You know we could switch tables every few minutes if you wanted to get the full Olive Garden experience.” He flashes Fenris a teasing grin, hoping to help Fenris feel more at ease. 

Fenris lets out a nervous laugh, glad that Hawke isn't angry.  _ Of course he isn't. He once knocked over half a dozen bottles of wine at the Hanged Man. Why would he be angry over this? _

“Sorry, it seems that my nerves are shaken.” He doesn't have time to say more as the waitress reappears with Hawke's Bud Light. She seems a bit surprised to see they've moved, but she clearly has been prompted as to who Hawke is and doesn't say anything.

“Here you go, sir. Do you want more water?” She asks.

“Wine. Your best red. A bottle,” Fenris manages to grit out. His vocal chords feel like they're grating glass.

“Right away.” She disappears as quickly as she came. 

“It’s fine, really,” says Hawke. “Tell me, Fenris: were you this nervous the first time you came over to my flat? This is just the two of us hanging out. The romantic part of it doesn’t change things that much, does it?” 

He trails off at the memory of that first time Fenris finally accepted his invitation to come to Hawke’s upscale, downtown, three-story apartment. He’d been more, ah, vigorous in his attempts to win Fenris’s attentions and had answered the door clad only in a towel around his waist, freshly damp from the shower, droplets of water spilling down his sculpted muscles (with a few extra spritzes of water from a water misting bottle just before opening the door for Fenris in order to ensure he was sufficiently wet). Hawke had smirked at Fenris’s blush and sharp intake of breath, fully convinced of his sex god appearance. 

Okay, so maybe Fenris had been this nervous and awkward then. But things became more comfortable between them the more they did hang out, right? So it shouldn’t take much to make things more comfortable and easier now, Hawke presumes.   


Fenris, meanwhile, is thinking of the same exact incident though his perspective is a tad different. He can remember how anxious he was, going up the steps to the absolutely luxurious apartment that Hawke calls home. It had taken a moment for him to even knock and then, when Hawke flung the door open clad only in a towel with water dripping down his chest… 

Well, Fenris had followed one drop as it made its way down from Hawke's collarbone to the curve of his hips. But then he had snapped his eyes back to Hawke, a full blush burning and his hands shaking. 

It had certainly been memorable, though when he told Sebastian his friend had seemed less amused and more annoyed. 

“I have never been on a romantic outing before. I… apologize if I act strangely.” Fenris reaches out and grabs a breadstick. It is a bit strange in texture but he takes a bite anyways. 

His throat gags and he does his best to cover up his retching. He has no idea  _ how _ Hawke can eat these. Then again, Hawke also considers Ferelden stew to be the best dish at the Hanged Man (there is no good dish there, but the stew contains turnips and fish and Fenris firmly considers it bad). 

Hawke, meanwhile, is starting in on his third breadstick, trying to look relaxed and cool and chill, but inwardly he’s freaking out because Fenris doesn’t seem to be enjoying himself, which means that Hawke has severely fucked up on this date, and oh, Andraste’s tits, how can he fix this? 

“I should be the one apologizing, really. I have a confession to make: I haven’t gone on a date in more than ten years. So I may not be as spectacular at this whole date thing as I may have made it seem.” He takes a quick swallow of his beer —  _ and he’s so relieved this restaurant carries the beer he likes; it does help to make things a tad more comfortable _ — and shrugs. “I’d like to give you a date out of a movie: perfect lighting, perfect hair, perfect soundtrack, flying off in a helicopter to another city to go see an opera and crying about how beautiful the music is, making out under the stars… But I want our date to be perfect for us. You and I aren’t conventional by any means. So you and me, just being here together, being ourselves, that’s all this really needs to be.”

A soft, nervous laugh escapes Hawke, and feeling his cheeks burning, he lowers his gaze to his beer. “Ah, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get carried away. I just meant that we don’t need to match this night up to anyone else’s standards. It can be whatever makes us comfortable. So, Fenris, what would make you happy right now?”

What would make Fenris happy? It's a strange question, one he doesn't think of often. But as soon as he considers it, he knows the answer. 

He reaches out across the table, a small smile ghosting across his face. “I am happy, Hawke. My nerves are merely out of wish for you to enjoy this night as much as possible. It seems like the two of us are quite a pair, eh?” 

The waitress drops off the wine, uncorking it and setting it down with two glasses. Fenris takes the bottle and then pours for himself before she can. He hardly even glances at her. His nerves have calmed but, well, a bit of wine never hurt anyone before.

“Oh. Good.” Hawke grins, but his cheeks are still flushed. “I can just hear Isabela calling us ridiculous, among a few other choice words, for all of this. Ah, do you want more breadsticks? You’ve only had the one, and I’ve finished off the whole basket.” 

“Ah, no, I am finished. I want to keep room for, uh, dinner.” Though if dinner is anything like the breadsticks, maybe Fenris should cut his losses… “Maybe one more?” He doesn't want Hawke to think he hates it here.

Hawke signals the waitress and requests more breadsticks. She nods and rushes away, as if she’s afraid she’ll end up dead in a dumpster for listening in too long on the Kingpin’s private conversation. Hawke doesn’t say or do anything to correct her. It’s useful to him to be feared — and he and Fenris do get more privacy for the evening this way. More than that, he enjoys his fearsome reputation. 

But Fenris is not afraid of him and never has been, despite the violence of their first meeting, and that is something which has always fascinated Hawke about Fenris. And it is something which makes Hawke feel more comfortable, relaxed, secure with Fenris. When he is with Fenris, he’s more than just a ruthless crime lord. He gets to be himself, awkward dork that he is and all, more so than he gets to let his guard down around any of his friends. Yet it’s different than he is when with his sister Bethany, when he tries to hide the harsher, darker parts of himself. Fenris already knows how dark and brutal he can get yet also knows how soft he can be and does not flinch away from either half of Hawke. 

And it makes Hawke feel more accepted than he ever has been in his life. Fenris was never afraid of his brutality, was never drawn to the allure of the Kingpin’s power, was never attracted his wealth and status. Fenris only agreed to go out with him once he got to know the real Hawke, the whole Hawke, not any one part of him. 

So no matter how awkward this date might get, Hawke is happy just to be himself in the company of the man he loves the most. 

He blushes and looks away again, taking another sip of beer, after realizing he’s been staring like a besotted idiot yet again. 

Fenris isn't sure why Hawke was so quiet, but he doesn't ask. He drinks his wine, thankful for something to do with his hands.  _ Awkward _ isn't the right word for it, but it certainly isn't comfortable either. 

“Do you come here often? And do you always buy the entire restaurant?” Fenris asks, searching desperately for a topic of conversation that isn't about how nervous he is. 

“I come here once in a while,” Hawke says with a shrug. “It’s good food and you know I can’t exactly cook food like this for myself. I also go to, like, Applebee's and other chains like this, plus a few small diners. There’s this Ferelden place that’s really good I should take you to. I don’t usually rent out the whole place unless I have a, uh, business meeting, but that doesn’t happen here very often. You are the first date I’ve taken here, for sure. Which makes you special. But then again, you’re special in countless ways.” 

Mercifully, their food arrives shortly, and Hawke’s expression turns delighted when he sees his food. “It’s so delicious!” he insists, inhaling the steam and adding on far more parmesan cheese than should be necessary. 

Fenris finds himself with five plates of different lasagnas — meat, a mix of cheeses, chicken, ricotta, and eggplant — all painstakingly arranged around him and taking up almost the entire table. Fenris wonders if this is a special punishment for something he did in a past life. 

“I didn’t know which lasagna you wanted, so here is all of them. Please enjoy, and let me know if you need anything else,” the waitress practically pleads with him. 

Hawke laughs. “I hope you’re hungry.” 

“I hope I am too,” Fenris deadpans. He lets the waitress know that he's good before turning to the mountain of lasagna in front of him. He decides to take a bit from each and put it on a plate, figuring that he can try all of them and finish the one he likes the most. 

Or, as it may turn out, dislikes the least. There's five options, surely one of them has to be good? 

Fenris is slowly making his way through the cheese lasagna — it feels like he's drowning in dairy — when Hawke's phone goes off. 

Hawke murmurs apologies as he pulls the current burner phone he’s using for business this week from his flannel pocket. “I’m sorry, I have to take this.” As he flips it open — because Hawke and only Hawke would have a flip phone for his burner — his voice instantly hardens. “Yes?” He all but spits out the word, flung as harshly as one of his throwing knives. “I thought I gave orders not to bother me tonight. I have an engagement of utmost importance.”

It’s Lilley, one of his enforcers who works in Darktown below the docks district. “Sorry, sir, but it’s Bonny Lem. You said to contact you right away if he refused to hand over protection money another month. What should I do with him?” 

Hawke angrily spears his eggplant parmesan with his fork. It’s hard work, running a criminal empire. Sometimes people don’t cooperate very nicely, and then his lovely date with lovely Fenris gets interrupted by fools. 

“Break each of his fingers until he forks over the money, with interest. If he still doesn’t give in, break the other hand too with a brick and remind him exactly why I’m better for the Undercity than the fucking Coterie was. Do I have to oversee every detail myself, or can you handle your own bloody job?” Hawke sneers as he speaks into the phone, but he catches himself rolling his eyes at Fenris in attempt to play off the interruption.

“Yes, sir. My apologies, sir.” 

Hawke snaps the flip phone closed and turns it off. Immediately his tone and manner softens, becoming gentle once again. “I’m sorry about that, Fenris. Now where were we? How’s your lasagna? Err, lasagnas?”

Fenris, not for the first time, marvels at how this is the man with whom he has affection. Hawke is so violent and, frankly, coarse one moment before softening into a wonderfully brave and loyal friend. He takes no quarter with anyone, demands respect and commands an empire, but with Fenris… he is a completely different man. 

And honestly, Fenris has no clue how to take it. 

He does know that the lasagna is overcooked and too oily, that the cheese is old, and that the eggplant has the same consistency as rubber. But he still manages to eat the bits he cut for himself and decides that the meat lasagna is the least offensive to his taste buds. It, at the very least, is only red meat and not fish. 

“Delicious,” he lies. “How is your eggplant?” Fenris reaches for his water in hopes of drowning out the taste of his eggplant. This time he manages to hold it securely and doesn't spill any. It's a small victory but he counts it nonetheless. 

“It’s amazing. I love the way they brown the cheese on top,” Hawke enthuses, taking another mouthful and relishing the flavor. “I’m glad to see you’re liking the food. It’s some of my favorite. It always reminds me of dinners my father used to make for the family, before he died. Anything with cheese and pasta was his favorite, but I could never get it right when I tried. Ah shit, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make the conversation depressing.” 

“No, I enjoy hearing about your family. I am only sad that I have only met Bethany.” Fenris knows that Hawke and his mother have a tense relationship, but from what Hawke says his father and brother were both good people. “And I am glad that you brought me here. It is growing on me.” 

Growing much like mold grows on an old piece of bread, maybe.

Hawke, however, is very pleased to hear it, and his smile returns. “Yeah? That’s good. I hope we can come here again sometime. Unless you’d like to go elsewhere. Honestly I’d be happy to go anywhere with you.” 

“I would like that as well,” Fenris says. He swallows his meat lasagna one bite at a time, remembering in the past how any food would have been appreciated. He needs to finish at least one of the plates or he'll be guilty about it the rest of the night. 

Hawke is only a few more bites into his own meal when his phone rings again. This time it’s his personal phone, the one he uses for family and friends. He groans and pulls it out of his other flannel pocket, only to glance at the number, grimace, and ignore the call. Then he turns to Fenris with a pleading, apologetic look. “I really apologize for all the interruptions. I won’t let anything else come between us tonight.”

“It is fine, Hawke. I know you are a man with obligations.” Fenris hates that his first thought is how used to Danarius he is. Danarius would answer messages, give orders, and have entire meetings while Fenris was at his beck and call. This, at least, is nothing like that. 

Hawke’s phone rings again. And then a third time. Eventually he breaks down and answers, trying to excuse himself by saying it must be an emergency.

“What is it, Mother?” He asks, irritation seeping through his voice.

Leandra’s voice, shrill and scandalized, is loud enough that Fenris can hear her from across the table. “Garrett, darling, I just heard the absolute worst news, and I need you to tell me it’s not true. There’s a rumor going around that you’re gallivanting about with an elf, of all the shameful scandals you could be involved in. How could you do this to me, Garrett? A male elf! Have you even thought about how this reflects upon me? I am your mother, and you haven’t even considered my feelings while you try to do the most shocking things you can for attention. Well, it won’t work. I am very disappointed in you, Garrett.”

Hawke is cringing from the moment he answers the phone and he only cringes harder as Leandra continues her ranting. “Sorry, Mother, you’re breaking up. Bad signal.” He mimics static sounds with his mouth before hanging up and turning off this phone as well. It’s easy to deal with shitty thugs and criminals and underlings. It’s infinitely harder to deal with shitty family members. Better to just avoid and deal with the fallout of Leandra’s temper tantrum later. 

Then he gives Fenris a mortified look, his eyes wide. “Fenris, I… I am so sorry about all of this.” 

Fenris hopes his expression is calm and not absolutely mortified. He’s heard horror stories about Leandra, but to actually hear her say those things… and is she right? Is Hawke really just doing all this for attention? 

Suddenly Fenris feels ill. He is a homeless elf, on the run from a man more dangerous than any he knows, in a borrowed suit in a low class restaurant while on a date with the Kingpin of Kirkwall. None of this makes sense. None of this should be happening. 

_ You're an idiot, _ Fenris thinks.  _ A fool if you believe Hawke will want to stay with you. _

He stands up and apologizes, stammering out something about the bathroom before rushing away.

An icy pit of terror has formed in Hawke’s stomach. Has he driven him off? Has he scared Fenris away? Of course Fenris would feel humiliated after what Leandra said. Hawke was a fucking idiot to answer that phone; there was no way a conversation with his mother while on a date could have gone well. And Fenris had to listen to that and listen to Hawke be too much of a coward to defend Fenris to Leandra. Hawke buries his face in his hands to muffle his cry of anguish. 

He expects Fenris will try to sneak out instead of running to the bathroom. He’ll run off and never return, and Hawke will have fucked this up just like he’s fucked up everything good in his life. 

“Get me another beer, please,” he whimpers from behind his hands to the waitress when she comes to check on him. 

#

Fenris locks himself in the bathroom and pulls his phone out. He takes a moment to unlock it, anxiety giving way to a full panic that makes his hands shake and his vision blur. He doesn't even realize that he's tearing up until one drops onto his screen as he quickly searches for Sebastian's name. He's memorized it, but in that moment he can barely remember where is he much less a series of random numbers. 

Sebastian picks up on the first ring. “Fenris? What’s going on? Do you need me to pick you up somewhere?” 

“I — I'm fine,” Fenris lies. He hates how his voice trembled, hates how he's hiding instead of dealing with his feelings. 

“Fenris…” Sebastian, of course, looks right through him. 

“Hawke is so soft and gentle and kind — and he keeps getting phone calls about things that are more important — and what if he is mad at me for wearing a suit — I hate the food, it is so awful, but Hawke loves it so much and I keep eating because he's so happy — I thought the suit would make him like me more because I wanted to impress him, but what if he thinks I am trying too hard — and Leandra hates me, she absolutely loathes me, and I should not even care but she is his mother and I know that others will share her opinion—” Fenris gulps down air. His throat hurts. His mind is spinning. Everything is too much and not enough. 

He wants to go home, to be buried under his collection of blankets, and to sleep until everything is okay. But he doesn't want to be alone. 

He is so, so, so tired of being alone. 

“Fenris, I need you to listen to me.” Sebastian is calm, much more than he has any right to be. “Hawke adores you. He wants the best for you. I know the way he looked at you when he came to pick you up. That was not the look of a disappointed man.” 

“He is so much better prepared for this,” Fenris laments. “What if I am never ready? What if it is always like this?” 

“It is your first date with someone you care for very much. It would be unusual if you  _ weren't _ worried. But I assure you that there is nothing you could do to make Hawke upset with you. The only thing you need to worry about is food poisoning.”

Despite himself, Fenris laughs. He rubs at his eyes. They sting but he's breathing a little easier, feeling a bit more controlled. 

“What's this about Leandra hating you?” Sebastian asks. Fenris gulps and explains the phone call, sparing no detail. When he's done, Sebastian sighs. “Leandra is… she has a very precise idea of what Hawke is. And when he fails to adhere to that, she comes up with explanations as to why.” 

“You do not think Hawke is using me for attention?” Fenris questions. 

“No, I do not think Hawke is using you for anything. And he will no doubt yell at Leandra about it later. I would not be surprised if he wishes to spend more time with you, if just to rub it in her face.” Sebastian's tone softens. “Are you sure you're all right? I can come pick you up in ten minutes, if you wish.” 

Fenris shakes his head before remembering Sebastian can't see him. “N-no, I do feel better. I just… I worry…”

“I know, my friend. But I promise that it will be better once you allow yourself to relax. Hawke is not Danarius. He would not want you to be so worried.” 

As per usual, Sebastian is right. 

“Thank you, Sebastian. If it is all right, can I stay with you tonight after the date?” 

“Of course. Feel free to have Hawke drop you off. I will be up for a while longer.” Sebastian is smiling. Fenris can hear it in his voice. “And Fenris? Do try to enjoy yourself. It is a date, a happy occasion, not a murder.” 

“Murders can be fun,” Fenris mumbles. Sebastian's snorts. 

“Perhaps you are spending too much time with Hawke—”

“Goodbye, Sebastian. I shall let you know when we are finished with our date.” Fenris waits for Sebastian to wish him well before hanging up.

He goes to the mirror and stares at himself. He looks — he looks awful. He's clearly just been crying. His suit is wrinkled. He feels like an idiot. But he does his best to dab at his eyes and straighten himself out again because Hawke deserves the best and Fenris is going to try being that. 

When he is satisfied with his appearance, Fenris walks out of the bathroom. He sits down at the table, trying to ignore the extra beer bottles that have appeared during the five minute span of his disappearance.

“My apologies.” He smiles at Hawke. “I think I am ready for dessert. Tell me, what is your favorite here?”

“You’re still here… I mean. There’s a cheesecake I really enjoy. Would you like to split it?” Hawke’s golden eyes are rimmed with red, and he quickly and rather uncouthly wipes his eyes with his sleeve. Once again he summons his charismatic smile. “Did you want more wine? Or — or breadsticks or anything else?” 

His hand inches toward Fenris, reaching toward him, the way his heart yearns for Fenris. And, well, Fenris has never really been able to turn Hawke down. Besides, their hands do fit rather well together. 

Fenris feels better just holding Hawke's hand. 

“Cheesecake and your company sounds excellent,” he reassures Hawke. He decides it best not to mention Hawke's red-rimmed eyes. After all, it is no doubt obvious Fenris was crying as well. 

The waitress comes and clears away their plates and all the uneaten lasagna. Soon she brings out a large slice of cheesecake dripping with chocolate sauce and cream, as well as two spoons. 

Hawke stands up and moves his chair around the table so that he’s right next to Fenris before sitting down. “What?” he says innocently, sliding his arm around Fenris’s waist. “I think there’s been enough distance between us tonight.” He picks up his spoon and scoops a large biteful of cheesecake, eating it contentedly. He doesn’t take his eyes off Fenris for the rest of the meal. 

Fenris is bright red once more, but he doesn't say anything or move away. He eats in smaller bites, but the cheesecake proves delicious and he quickly starts helping himself as eagerly as Hawke. It's a bit overwhelming, being so close together and being the subject of all of Hawke's attention, but Fenris refuses to let it cow him. 

“Hang on. You’ve got a bit of chocolate syrup on your face.” Hawke reaches over and brushes the corner of Fenris’s mouth with his thumb, wiping off an alleged bit of chocolate with a grin and a gleam in those bright, golden eyes. 

“Thank you,” Fenris murmurs. He wonders if he's supposed to kiss Hawke. Danarius would have expected it. But Hawke is different. So Fenris continues eating the cheesecake until there's only one bite left. “You may have it.”

Hawke resolutely divides the final bite in half. “We’ll split it.” 

Fenris snorts but doesn't argue, taking his half and eating it with a smile. “You are a strange man,” he murmurs.

“I can’t deny that,” Hawke replies. He wipes his mouth with his napkin and then leans over to kiss Fenris’s cheek. “I’ll be right back.” 

He goes to meet with the manager in order to settle the bill for both dinner and renting out the restaurant for the evening, and he leaves a generous tip for the waitress. Then he returns to the table and greets Fenris with yet another smile. “Shall we go?” asks Hawke as he offers his hand to help Fenris up. “I can take you back to Sebastian’s if you prefer or directly to your place, or you could come back to my apartment for a nightcap.” 

Fenris allows Hawke to help him up, smiling and not letting go even once he is on his feet. His smile falters a little at the offer. “I… and what would we do at your apartment?” He asks. 

Hawke’s smile has turned suggestive. “Well, we could kiss,” he says, his voice becoming lower and husky. “Or anything beyond kissing that you would be comfortable with. Or we could simply cuddle on my couch, you in my arms under a blanket, although Dog will probably beg us to let him snuggle with us.” 

It feels like Fenris's brain stops when Hawke's voice drops, his smile running through Fenris and freezing him where he stands. All Fenris can think of is Hawke throwing him on a bed, of Hawke tearing his clothes off and — 

No. Hawke is not like that. Hawke would never do that. Hawke is good. Hawke is kind. Hawke is not and will never be Danarius. 

But Fenris still shakes his head. “I — I appreciate the offer, Hawke, but I cannot go home with you tonight. I…” He pulls away from Hawke, eyes focused down. “I do not know if I can ever do  _ that _ with you.” 

Hawke’s smile softens, the suggestiveness melting away. “That’s alright, Fenris,” he murmurs. “It’s up to you. It will always be your decision. I don’t want to take that step unless you want it too and are ready for it. That door is always open for you, and if you decide never to take it, then that’s okay too. I care about you very much, and so long as you’re happy and comfortable and feel safe, that’s all that matters to me.” 

“You cannot be serious,” Fenris blurts. “You — you are attracted to me. Sexually. And you are a handsome man. You could have anyone in the city. Yet you would be with someone who may never provide that for you?”  _ What's the catch? What is the offer, the trade? What do you want, Hawke? _

“I’ve never been more serious about anything. Yes, it’s true. I am attracted to you sexually. But I don’t  _ need _ sex. What I  _ need _ is for you to be alright. My wants and needs and happiness are not priorities over yours. You don’t owe me anything in our friendship, and you don’t owe me anything in a relationship either. I want you to be happy. That’s all that matters. Being with you, even without sex, makes me happy. If there’s anything you take from this mess of an evening, please let it be that fact.” 

Hawke’s face is grave, deadly serious, but his eyes are smoldering like molten gold. He adds on, with a touch of playfulness, “Besides, I can take care of my own needs by keeping in touch with myself.” 

Fenris cannot help but snort. He pokes Hawke in the side and rolls his eyes, but he is relaxed again. It had been stupid, getting so worked up over something he should have known would be fine. And Hawke… He really is everything and more, the absolute best man Fenris could have imagined but… better. 

Even in his deepest dreams, Fenris could never have imagined meeting someone as wonderful as Hawke. 

“Very well. You may drop me off at Sebastian's and then you can go home and get in touch with yourself,” Fenris deadpans in a low voice. 

Hawke bursts into laughter. “It’s an excellent plan, love.” 

#

The Kingpin of Kirkwall drives a little more slowly than usual on the way back to Sebastian’s. He even manages to stay within the speed limits most of the time. It’s almost as if he’s trying to extend his time with Fenris for this disastrous and perfectly wonderful first date. 

He insists upon helping Fenris out of the car and escorting him to Sebastian’s door like a gentleman, and he smiles sweetly as he bids Fenris good night.

“I hope it isn’t too presumptuous of me to ask you on another date for next week?” Hawke says, almost gleeful in anticipation. “You choose where we eat so that the food is more to your taste.” 

“I would enjoy that,” Fenris replies. His smile is wider, less cautious. He is — he is happy. Well and truly happy. It's odd, not being so anxious and concerned for the first time in what feels like a lifetime. Right now, everything is perfect. 

Right now, he is safe and happy with Hawke. 

Some part of Fenris notes that he could get used to this. Some part of Fenris already is. 

“I really enjoyed our date. Thank you for bringing me.”

“Thank you for agreeing to go out with me.” Hawke pauses, turning shy. “May I kiss you?” 

Every time Fenris thinks that he knows what he is doing, Hawke has a way of catching him off guard. At first he wants to ask why, but then he realizes he knows the answer.

Instead of replying, Fenris carefully gets on the tips of his toes and presses his lips against Hawke's. His arms instantly wrap around Fenris’s waist, providing support so Fenris can fully commit himself. Hawke melts into the kiss, his lips parting as he opens his mouth for Fenris, drinking in every moment of Fenris’s kiss as if it were life-nourishing. He murmurs a soft, sweet moan of bliss against Fenris’s lips. 

Hawke knows how much being with Fenris makes him feel accepted as himself more than ever before. Kissing Fenris makes him feel more loved than ever before. He has no idea, of course, that Fenris is thinking the exact same thing.

It feels as if the kiss lasts forever. Fenris has his hands on Hawke's shoulders while Hawke's are politely staying around his waist. Neither push for more, understanding this is all they're ready for, but this is still excellent. 

Still, before Fenris even has a chance to second-guess himself or wonder if this is too long, the porchlights flash. 

Fenris chuckles and pulls back, though he remains in Hawke's embrace. “I believe that Sebastian is reminding us where we are.”

A laugh escapes Hawke. “I’ll take that as my cue to leave, then. Good night, Fenris. I can’t wait to see you again.” 

He does, however, give Fenris one last kiss before he goes: a gentle kiss on Fenris’s forehead, tender and intimate and so full of affection for such a brief touch of the lips. He walks back to his vehicle and gives Fenris an oh so casual little wave before getting in the car. 

Fenris slips inside the apartment, a happy expression of bliss on his face as he meets Sebastian’s warm and knowing look.

“So, my friend? Are you glad you stayed?” 

“Yes. I — I am.” 

Sebastian grins a little wider and motions for Fenris to follow him into the bedroom. “Why don't we get you changed into your usual clothes and then you can tell me all about it?” As they walk, he adds, “Do you think there will be another date?” 

“I believe that this may be a chance for something new,” Fenris replies earnestly. “A chance for… for something good.” 

“And you deserve it, my friend. You deserve all the happiness he can bring you.” 

_ Yes, _ Fenris thinks,  _ I suppose I do. _


End file.
